CHAPTER 15
WHATEVER CALM I’d found last night has vanished with the sun.
The city feels sharper now, like it’s holding its breath.
As I pull on a pair of black tactical jeans, a brown leather bodice with silver buckles, and lace up my combat boots, I catch my reflection in the mirror.
Dark circles shadow my eyes, and there’s a tension in my jaw that wasn’t there before.
I look like someone bracing for impact.
Pondering this, I decide to pull my hair back into a loose ponytail, leaving out enough strands to frame my face.
After grabbing my usual arsenal and strapping everything into place, I glimpse the pendant lying on the nightstand where I left it last night.
After a moment’s hesitation, I slip it over my head, tucking it beneath my top.
Its weight settles against my sternum, oddly comforting.
Outside, Penn City is already fully awake, the streets crowded with morning commuters.
The transport system runs with its usual efficiency, whisking me the short ride to Antaross—the capital of Northcross, where Redmoore’s headquarters dominates the skyline.
The massive structure rises from the landscape like a fortress, all gleaming steel and reinforced glass.
It’s surrounded by various facilities, each equipped with state-of-the-art security systems and high walls that stretch along the country’s entire border with Mythcrest, acting as the barrier between civilians and barbarians.
When I approach the main gate, memories flood back. The years of training, missions, camaraderie, and ultimately, loss. I haven’t set foot here since the day I resigned, unable to face the ghosts that haunt these halls.
The guards at the security checkpoint seem to recognize me, their postures stiffening as they check my credentials against their database.
They know who I am, what I’ve done, and what was done to me and my family. Everyone in Redmoore knows. One speaks quietly into his comm unit, then nods to his partner. The massive gates slide open, granting me entry.
Inside, the facility is exactly as I remember. Recruits in training uniforms jog past in formation, while researchers in white lab coats hurry between buildings. Everyone moves with clear purpose, the well-oiled machine of humanity’s defense against the ceaseless vampire threat.
“Fifth floor,” the receptionist, a young woman with keen eyes that miss nothing, tells me. “Captain Ventura is expecting you.”
I nod my thanks and step through the security barrier, feeling the subtle tingle of the scanner analyzing my genetic makeup.
The elevator whisks me upward, its glass walls offering a panoramic view of the city.
From this height, Penn City looks peaceful, orderly, nothing like the chaotic place I know it to be.
On the fifth floor, the doors slide open to a busy command center.
Officers move between workstations, their conversations a constant murmur beneath the electronic hum of equipment.
Lexa stands at the center of it all, her back to me as she gestures at a holographic display.
Her hair is pulled back in its customary braid, not a strand out of place, and she wears the sleek black uniform of a Redmoore captain.
Even from behind, her authority is evident in the set of her shoulders and the way others defer to her commands.
She turns as I approach, as if sensing my presence.
“Seraph,” she greets me, her professional tone belying the personal moment we shared on the rooftop. “Thank you for coming. Right this way.”
I follow closely behind her as we head toward a conference room.
My heart is pounding, and my breaths feel heavy.
I tell myself that it’s been almost a decade now.
That it doesn’t have to affect me so much anymore.
But my body won’t listen. The walls become more narrow as we walk, even though the room’s dimensions remain constant.
My eyes are locked onto the heels of Lexa’s pointed flats, which add an elegance to the sharpness of everything else.
I use that thought to ground myself until she suddenly stops in her tracks, and I haven’t noticed until I’ve already bumped into her shoulder.
“Seraph? Are you okay?”
A familiar tightness creeps into my chest. “I just—” I take a deep breath. “It’s been a while since I’ve been back here.”
Understanding flashes across her face. She places a hand on my arm, her touch firm but gentle. “Focus on something tangible.”
“Like what?” My voice sounds distant, even to my own ears.
“Like this.” She takes my hand and presses it against the cool metal wall. “Feel that? The temperature difference?” When I nod, she says, “Now count the rivets while you breathe. Keep it slow and steady.”
I concentrate on the sensation of cold metal against my palm. One rivet, inhale. Two rivets, exhale. Three rivets, inhale. After a couple of minutes, my racing heartbeat has finally slowed.
“Better?” Her smile shows her dimples.
“Better,” I confirm, embarrassed but grateful. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” she says, in a tone reserved for moments like this. “I had the same reaction my first day back. We were only fifteen.”
I assent with a nod, then straighten my back. “The team is waiting.”
As Lexa opens the door, people rise from their seats, inclining their heads in a shallow bow. Digital screens line the walls, displaying maps, data streams, and surveillance footage from various parts of the city.
One screen shows the rehab facility where Max is currently being held, though I can’t make out individual rooms from this distance.
The rest of the conference room is even more modern than before, dominated by an expansive glass table surrounded by eight people who carry expressions ranging from curiosity to skepticism when I enter.
“Seraph Rosen, everyone,” Lexa announces. “She’ll be consulting on the sire bond investigation.”
I offer everyone a tight smile, uncomfortable under their scrutiny.
A tall man with a closely cropped beard stands. “Dr. Davis,” he says, extending his hand. “Vampire physiology specialist.”
I shake his hand, noting the calluses that suggest he’s more than just a lab researcher.
Lexa continues the introductions. “Lieutenant Whitlock, tactical operations. Specialist Song, weapons development. Dr. Emerson, vampire psychology. And field team captains: Rhodes, Martinez, Keller, and Wei.”
They each nod in acknowledgment, sizing me up with the refined eyes of hunters assessing potential prey—or competition.
“Please, sit.” Lexa gestures to an empty chair as she takes her place at the head of the table. “Seraph has firsthand experience with a sire bond that we need to understand.”
All eyes turn to me expectantly.
I take a deep breath and begin from the start.
“Three days ago, my partner was turned by an unknown vampire. A female Whiteshade. At first, everything seemed to be aligned with standard procedure. He was adapting just as expected.” I keep my voice clinical, detached, as if discussing a case file rather than the man I love.
“Maxim has claustrophobia, and becoming a vampire made it hard for him to be within the confines of the hospital room. So, I broke him out and we had a picnic.” I pause, as if hearing my own words for the first time.
It sounds insane when I say it out loud.
Crazy, really. Most people would have gone straight to the authorities and obediently followed the steps required to treat symptoms like this.
But me? I chose to steal him away for a day.
Sometimes, I wonder why I do the things I do.
All eyes are on me, but no one questions. Maybe it’s because I said it so casually. Or because they can tell that I’m not really sorry for what I did. Sure, there might be judgment in their glances—quick flickers of disapproval, like silent reprimands—but no one says a word. Not yet, anyway.
“He then attacked me out of nowhere,” I continue, “and tried to deliver me to his sire, all while apologizing profusely.” My voice wavers for just a second, but I push through it. “He was clearly not in control of his actions.”
“Attacked how?” Dr. Emerson leans forward, her eyes measuring behind wire-rimmed glasses.
I draw a slow breath. “He stabbed me with my own dagger, then carried me into the forest where a group of vampires was waiting, his sire included. It’s as if he had no will of his own.”
Dr. Davis taps something into his tablet. “And you’re certain this wasn’t just typical fledgling aggression?” he asks without looking up.
My back instinctively straightens. “Positive. I’ve seen newly-turned vampires before. This was different. He wasn’t hungry or disoriented. He was following orders that no one had verbally given.”
“Like a back door into his consciousness.” Dr. Emerson shifts in her seat. “The sire creates vampires who function independently until she activates the bond.”
“An army of sleeper agents,” Lieutenant Whitlock concludes, crossing his arms. “How many others were turned by this same vampire?”
“Thirty-six.”
As the words leave my mouth, Lexa presses a button that brings up a holographic display in the center of the table with images of all the victims, including Max.
A murmur runs through the group.
“And all of them received her blood to complete the transition?” Dr. Davis asks.
I nod. “As far as I know.” While everyone takes notes, Max’s vacant stare as he carried me through the forest burns behind my eyes. “Do you think the bond can be broken?”
“Unknown,” Dr. Emerson admits. “There’s no precedent for this in current records, nor weapons. All we have are legends and folklore, which suggest the bond weakens with distance and time.”
That explains why the vampires in Penn City haven’t been affected before. Their sire may not have been close enough for their influence to be imposed on them, and with time the link may have been severed completely, although it’s all speculation until we have evidence of the fact.